by Emerson, Ru
“Yes. It’s also central, remember.” She looked up as the door opened; Siohan took a step back, behind her chair.
“Hey, lady!” Chris’s jubilant voice. He came across the room, Ariadne’s hand clasped firmly in his. “They said you were down here, waiting for the big fuss.” He bent down, planted a loud smack on her cheek. “Everything all right with you? Oh—hey.” He went to one knee, extended a tentative finger. “Just neat. Did that all yourself, did you?”
“Dahven helped a little,” Jennifer replied dryly. Chris laughed. “And I’m fine, just a little tired. It’s—not the most fun I ever had—but she’s probably worth it.”
“What Mom says.” He touched a small, pink cheek. Ariadne let go his hand and hugged Jennifer cautiously. Chris brushed baby-fine, dark hair with his finger. “Amazing. You a mother, yet. Thought you’d like to know, Jen: First track’s just been laid out of Fahlia to Podhru.”
Ariadne tugged at his hair. “Chris, no business at this hour! Remember we are not dressed for reception. At least, I am not. You tell—told me before, you need a clean shirt to meet with the Heir. Now that he is Emperor—”
Chris sighed but he was grinning as he got back to his feet and recaptured Ariadne’s fingers. “She picks on me all the time, you know? C’mon, lady, let’s see if we can’t make you pretty for the party.”
“Easier me for pretty than you,” Ariadne retorted; she tipped Jennifer a grave wink and went with him.
Jennifer waited until the door closed, then laughed. “Those two! Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
Siohan made an odd little noise. “They’re giddier than last time, at midwinter.” The door flew open again; this time it was Dahven.
“Well, that’s done. I think poor Aletto felt even sillier out there being cheered at than I did.”
“It’s good for you both.” Jennifer blew him a kiss.
“Of course. Every Duke needs a swelled head. They’ll be here in short order; do you need anything?”
“Water—oh, thank you, Siohan,” she added as the woman handed her a cup.
“You should have a small table, a jug. I’ll see to it.”
Dahven touched her finger, the tiny fist clutching it. “You really think she’ll be all right here?”
“Siohan or one of the other women will take her back to the nursery if she fusses. Here”—she patted the opposite chair arm—“sit and talk to me; I always get the preparty jitters, and the way they’ve got me decked out and settled in, I feel like there’s a spotlight on me.”
Late afternoon: Jennifer had lost track long since of people she’d been introduced to: Leyzin and his red-haired lady, early on; Jubelo and Misarla she knew, but none of their nearly grown children or his brothers; Wudron and his lady had left their enormous brood home, fortunately. Dozens of others: minor nobles, wealthy merchants like Fedthyr, who was visibly and vocally delighted to see her once again—somewhere in all that, a very complacently happy Enardi and his new wife, Meriyas, absolutely stunning in costly pale pink brocade, her flame-colored hair partly up and mostly loose to her knees.
Everyone so—so radiant, she thought. Happy. Well, why not? A new Emperor, new trade, new wealth and—well, anything good seemed possible, just now.
Chris and Ariadne out there somewhere, inseparable and so visibly happy: she’d caught a glimpse of them whispering together in a corner, later talking to one of the French who’d arrived some days earlier—trains or hot-air balloons, no doubt. Good for him—and her, too. Bet he’ll have that summer house in the mountains before much longer.
She looked up as someone came toward her; Robyn held her close, kissed the air just above her cheek. “How do you do that?” she demanded. “After I had Iana, I looked like—”
“Not my doing, I looked like purest Hell before Siohan took me in charge. What’s this I hear, you’re bullying Aletto into building a winter palace?”
Robyn laughed. “You’ve been in that Fort in summer; you don’t want to know how bad it gets, rest of the year. Yeah; it’s never been a good place for kids but we can’t just up stakes and move the residence altogether; too hard on the town. So—Fort for the summer; down off the mountains, just into the flatlands for the rain and snow season. He needs dry—you know. And the building and all—it’ll be something to take his mind off—things.”
“Is he any better?”
“Lialla?” Robyn shrugged. “I think so. He isn’t ready to talk about it yet, but—can I?” She bent over the basket.
“Sure.” Jennifer eased her finger from the baby’s near hand as Robyn scooped her up.
“Looks like you, at that age. Cute. Everything—you’re really all right?”
Jennifer gravely crossed her heart. “Honestly. Tired and a bit sore.”
“You look it. Name her yet?”
“Working on it.” Amazing how complex naming could get.
“Come up with something before she starts talking, okay? My big kid—he sure does look good, doesn’t he? Turning into someone, who’d’ve thought? Speak of kids—” She kissed small fingers and settled the baby back in her basket. “Better go check on my small fry, make sure they aren’t pulling your house down.”
“Bring them up after dinner, meet their new cousin.”
“All right.”
Jennifer watched her go; Robyn had turned into someone, too: capable, practical, very much a Duchess.
She was growing tired, but the party was going strong as ever. Siohan carried the baby off late in the afternoon; Dahven was suddenly at her side. “You all right?”
She dredged up a smile for him. Thread had never been as exhausting as a baby. “Sure.”
“Emperor wants to talk to us both, just a few minutes. Since they’ll all be leaving early tomorrow morning, I thought—”
“Help me sit up a little straighter. Ought to look less like a new mommy, more like a Thukara.”
To her relief, but not to her surprise, Afronsan hadn’t changed at all, though the high, glittering diadem and the formal white trousers and jacket with their thin edge of red certainly were a far cry from what he’d worn the first time she’d seen him. He looked very much like an Emperor at the moment, but she wagered he still dressed for comfort in his offices or his apartments—same as she did. Pleasantries exchanged, he took the bench Dahven had brought for him and planted his elbows on his knees; Dahven settled on the arm of Jennifer’s chair.
“We completed the list of evidence against New Holland just before I came north, I thought you’d want to know it’s being printed now and it’ll go to their Parliament as soon as I get back to sign it. Also, the English government sent me a formal statement; any future influx of the drug from that source, they’ll stand ready to aid us. They and the Alliance are supposedly bringing pressure against the French and the Incans.”
“Good—if anything actually comes of it,” Jennifer said.
“Another message from the English; they’re sending a small orchestra this summer,” Afronsan went on. “They’ve agreed already to a limited tour, which will include Sikkre.” He hesitated. “Word from the south, three days ago; Casimaffi’s gone missing from his ship.”
“I’m only surprised it took someone so long,” Dahven said. “What about Vuhlem?”
“Still no word, not since he was seen along the Incan coast. Rumor, though: Chris brought me all of that he could this last trip, and he says the Lasanachi have put a price on the man’s head.” He paused. “Enough of all that. His daughter’s doing well up north—surprising, considering how she was raised.”
“Well,” Jennifer said, “she was clever enough to realize she wasn’t ready for the job, and to pick good advisers. Gray Fishers’ grandmother tells me she can see the change in the city already—not much of one so soon. A start.”
Afronsan nodded. “I’d heard; of course, the decree I sent gave little room for misinterpretation. Holmaddi women aren’t a class apart from other Rhadazi women. Period. There’ll be problems among the more hidebound
men, and the outlying villages of course—or, more correctly, they think they’ll be able to evade the decree.” Men like Ryselle’s father, Jennifer thought sourly. He’d met his match in Afronsan, though. He was speaking once more; she focused her wandering attention. “The caravaners’ building should be completely demolished by midsummer.”
“They’re not rebuilding—”
“No. That was never an option; Duchess Veria flatly said no, but held out several alternatives for the site and let the city people choose: It’ll be a small park and memorial, a large open market.”
“I’m glad.” Sil and Ryselle were back up there, aiding the network of Holmaddi women; this time, they had a good chance of success.
“Ah—I knew there was a last thing, though they may already have told you. Chris and his lady have accepted his father’s estates in French Jamaica, and the French have given him permission to establish a CEE-Tech base there.”
“I had heard,” Jennifer said. “The economy’s not good and the sudden loss of Dupret and his refineries didn’t help.” Chris wasn’t any better at economics than she was but he understood poor and hopeless; so did Ariadne—all those poor kin of her mother. Jennifer hadn’t been pleased about the project at first—the island was still under the control of men of Dupret’s class, after all. Chris and Ariadne would probably be shunned at best. Robyn had been frankly horrified. But with the Duc himself keeping an eye on them, or at least marking them as favored and not to be messed with—
The Emperor’s voice pulled her from her thoughts once more. “Well—the Thukara looks tired, I won’t keep you.” He kissed her fingers, got back to his feet, and went back across the room where he was drawn into conversation with Enardi and Edrith. Dahven stood, held out his hands to help her up.
“He’s right, lady; you’ve had enough fun.”
Jennifer sighed. “God, I’m killed. No more fun. Like some more water—”
“After we get your feet up.”
“I was about to say.” It took them a while to reach the door; people wanting one last word, offering congratulations. Somehow they were outside at last. “Quiet out here,” she murmured. “Nice.”
“Very.”
Their apartments were warm and sunny. She let Dahven settle her with two extra pillows at her back, drank a little water—it was warmer than she liked ordinarily. Not worth the trouble sending for fresh; most of the household was out celebrating anyway—Emperor and Thukar’s Heir. Dahven sat next to her, then swung his feet up.
She took his hand. “Aren’t you supposed to be back downstairs, playing Thukar?”
“Done for the moment; playing adoring husband and proud papa instead. I’ll go back down in an hour or so and probably find no one’s even missed me.” He went flat, his eyes closed; she slid over so she could settle her chin on his shoulder. Silence for a long time. She thought he might be drifting toward sleep; his deep chuckle surprised her.
“What?”
“Just thinking. How much I owe Lialla, of all people. If she hadn’t bullied Aletto into leaving the Fort with her, that old Weilder would never have—Lialla. Little brown sand gods.”
Jennifer laughed, and set a kiss on his forehead. “I owe her more than you do.” He opened his eyes, quirked one eyebrow. “She had enough sense to refuse you, left you for me. Speak of proud papas, or lack of them: Did you notice, down there earlier? Chris has a silver bracelet.”
“I know; my man got it for him. Chris says they talked it out, they’re both much too young for more than married—”
“God. Not only grown up, but sensible. Her, too. Spooky.”
“They both should be; Chris, in particular, after this past year. Mmmm—tired. Sure you’re all right?”
“Fine,” she assured him; it always amazed her, how quickly he could fall asleep. She was warm, tired, pleasantly comfortable, nothing more. He still didn’t know about the Triad—after so many months, it was unlikely he’d learn. I don’t want that, ever again. She’d said as much the night she confronted Jadek, when he’d tried to force a physical fight. “I don’t need that to feel alive. We don’t.” No warfare, no drugs, no Hell-Light—she could live quite happily without any of it. There were improvements to be made in the market; her own help, financial or otherwise, for Sil and Ryselle; paperwork that would bring railroads and perhaps even steam cars into Rhadaz—not dramatic but important for all that. Even hot-tempered Chris and his volatile lady seemed glad to be done with violence.
Boring, she’d told Dahven; poor choice of words. Say, rather, normal. Ordinary. All the small, pleasant day-to-day possibilities—little in her first few months in Rhadaz could compare. Except—
Dahven stirred, mumbled sleepily, wrapped an arm across her. She smiled, closed her eyes. The future stretched before them, bright with possibilities. For all of them.
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Also by Ru Emerson
In the Cave of Exile
On the Seas of Destiny
To the Haunted Mountains
One Land, One Duke
The Two in Hiding
The Calling of the Three
Dedication
For Doug
and in memory of
Bertie Wooster
(1982-1994)
Ru Emerson (1944 – )
Ru Emerson was raised in Butte Montana (which she claims explains a lot), and after entirely too many years in some of the seedier neighborhoods of Los Angeles, moved to rural Oregon, where she has lived for the past 13 years with Doug (aka ‘The Phantom Roommate’), several dogs, rabbits, pigeons, two cats and a furry daughter named Roberta. She has written and sold 17 novels, including the popular NIGHT THREADS 6-volume series, and the first three tie-in novels based on the hit TV Series XENA: WARRIOR PRINCESS. Her novels are also currently in print in Germany, England, Spain and Italy. When not buried in research or actively writing, Emerson can be found running, mountain biking, gardening, weight training or flying two and four-line stunt kites on the Oregon Coast.
Copyright
A Gollancz eBook
Copyright © Ru Emerson 1995
All rights reserved.
The right of Ru Emerson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane
London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
This eBook first published in 2014 by Gollancz.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 473 20658 8
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.orionbooks.co.uk
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